"Morning to you too, Sam," I muttered, eyeing the mountain of paper.
"Save the pleasantries," Sam said, already flipping through his notes. "We've got three acquisitions pending, a board meeting at eleven, and your signature is needed on roughly a million contracts. Where do you want to start?"
I picked up my coffee, took one sip, and grimaced. I buzzed my assistant immediately. "Another coffee," I ordered. "Hot this time. Strong enough to wake the dead."
"Already on it," she chirped through the speaker. Bless her.
Sam didn't even pause. "And by the way, the investors are circling for updates. You can't keep postponing, they're starting to grumble."
I rubbed my temple.
"Richard?" Sam called.
"Yeah, Sam?" I asked absently.
"I don't suppose you've checked your phone, email, or, uh… social media today, have you?"
I let out a low groan, dragging a hand through my hair. "Haven't had the time. I do, however, distinctly remember dropping instructions on your desk yesterday to handle some of my workload. And yet—" I gestured dramatically at the mountain of papers threatening to avalanche over me, "—I am still drowning. You see the problem here?"
Sam ignored my jab, which was a bad sign. "Richard… you're trending."
My mind leapt to the worst-case scenarios: had one of my competitors staged a coup? Did some board member leak confidential deals? Or had I, by some miracle, become a viral sensation for my genius and charisma? The last thought comforted me, though I suspected reality was far less kind.
"I'm trending?" I repeated slowly, my brow furrowing. "I don't even know if that's a good thing or a bad thing!"
"Not good," Sam said flatly, shaking his head. "Definitely not the good kind of trending."
"Explain, Sam. Because unless my name is attached to the words 'historic merger' or 'financial mastermind,' I cannot imagine why the world would care about me."
Sam coughed into his fist. "Not that kind of trending. The kind where… well… you're the joke of the day."
My eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
Before I could demand clarification, Sam thrust his phone into my hands. On the glowing screen was an image that made my soul leave my body. A grainy photograph, obviously taken by some nosy bystander, stared back at me. There I was, in my suit, tie perfectly knotted, the very embodiment of corporate power. Next to me stood Nita—bare-legged in hot denim shorts, tank top clinging to her curves, hair tied messily, wolfing down a burger.
The angle was terrible. My face was caught mid-bite while Nita's cheeks bulged with food. The caption at the bottom of the post gleefully read: "Corporate King meets Burger Queen."
My mouth fell open. "Oh, hell."
Sam tried, and failed, to smother a laugh. His lips twitched, and then he snorted. "I'm sorry, but… it's everywhere. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. You and Nita are the meme of the week."
I dragged a hand down my face, already imagining the smug looks on my board members' faces, the whispers in the hallways. Me, Richard—the polished, untouchable executive—reduced to burger stand comedy fodder.
"Of all the things to ruin me…" I muttered. "Not a scandal, not a hostile takeover, not a leaked trade secret—but a damn cheeseburger."
Sam burst out laughing at that, wheezing as he doubled over. "To be fair, you do look like you're in love with the burger."
I shot him a look that could strip paint. "Careful, Sam. I still sign your paycheck."
I swiped through the phone, each flick of my thumb delivering a new humiliation.
And then came the hashtag. #BurgerAffair.
"I'm in hell," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose as though that would ward off the flames of public shame licking at my pride.
"Who is she?" he asked, far too innocently.
"Ahh… it's the lady I told you Ma arranged for me to marry," I confessed.
"And you took her to a roadside burger shack?"
"Actually, she did," I corrected.
Sam slapped his forehead. "She took you to a burger shack?! You sure your mum chose this girl? Because I don't think she would have approved of a woman who could pull such a stunt."
"Shut up, Sam," I snapped. Mother would combust if she ever saw that picture.
Panic clawed its way through my chest. If Nita had seen the posts, the comments—those vicious, cutting remarks from strangers who had no idea who she was—then she might be hurt. Social media could be a meat grinder when it wanted to.
"Get our press officer to meet me in the car. Now." I instructed Sam.
Quickly, I dialled Martin, my bodyguard plus driver. "Send a driver to the Williams residence immediately—bring her straight to my family home. No delays."
I raced down. Martin was already waiting at the curb with the car door open, eyes wide at my urgency. I slid into the seat just as Mary, our press officer, hurried in beside me, clutching a folder.
"Damage control?" she asked tersely, flipping open her folder.
"Immediate," I replied. "The driver will take us to my family home. We need to frame this before the tabloids twist it."
My personal phone vibrated in my hand—emails, missed calls, messages piling up. Every buzz was another piece of my reputation chipped away, another headline I couldn't control.
But none of that mattered as much as the thought of Nita sitting in her room right now, seeing herself mocked, turned into a caricature by strangers. My gut twisted. This wasn't just about image anymore. This was about her.
"Why the fuck didn't you get ahead of this? Do I have to tell everyone how to do their jobs?" I shouted.
Mary stammered, "I'm sorry, sir. I was keeping an eye on the wrong place, monitoring business reports and reviews. I didn't think a casual dinner would spiral into a media frenzy."
"All I did was go on a date like a normal person, and suddenly I'm the laughingstock of the entire city." People had always said I lived too stiffly, that I needed to relax, to try being normal. I finally tried, and look where it got me.